Foxes in the Hen House
by RaginRanga
Summary: A Rebellion is brewing. In District 8, Huxley and Adira are siblings that, by random chance, have both been reaped into the 72nd Hunger Games. In District 1, Sapphire is training to win the games, but not for the reason you'd expect. In District 6, a thief is given a choice; watch his family die, or make them watch him die. Elsewhere, the puppeteer controls them all.
1. Hens

_-Foxes in the Hen House-_

Her footsteps created echoes on the cobblestones as she walked down the dimly lit alley. _It would have helped to have gone barefoot_ , Taffeta thought to herself. The less attention she drew, the better. After rounding a corner, the alley gave way to a small courtyard, surrounded by the rear of four buildings. Each tower rose up 8 floors, monolithic giants threatening to swallow the space. However, in a stroke of luck, or rather, architectural stupidity, no windows dotted the rear facades overlooking the courtyard, leaving a vennel where undisclosed meetings could occur. After all, district 8 was not known for its structural beauty or prowess.

The darkness was broken from below, when the beam of a torch reached Taffeta's eyes. She squinted to find the source, adjusting her fox pelt scarf to hide her face. Identity was precious, and she couldn't be found out, lest her family suffer. It originated from a small man hole, located in the far corner of the courtyard. Densely covered with sodden cardboard, it was hard to know that it even existed in the first place. She went to investigate, looking over her shoulder as she did so. When she reached the grate, a voice whispered out.

"What news do you have for us?" It asked quickly. Taffeta tried to match the voice to a name, and when successful, she knew it was safe.

She moved her scarf to reveal her mouth. "There's a fox in the henhouse," she quickly answered. She waited for a moment, before the manhole was moved sideways, revealing a ladder downwards. Her codeword had been styled after her form of employment. She made scarves and other clothing pieces out of fox pelts. At first, they'd laughed about her job, but the novelty became something she'd embraced. She enjoyed being the fox.

Taffeta nimbly made her way down the ladder, and after crawling for about a hundred metres, the small sewer tunnel gave way to a cavernous cistern, lit by a series of candles. There were 140, each signifying a lost district 8 child. They cast an ominous light that filled the room, and revealed the faces of some 15 people. They all smiled when they saw her face.

"Ah, Taffeta, nice of you to finally join us," a large man in his early 40s yelled out. "We we're beginning to think you'd forgotten about our little meeting."

"Now now Benjamin, you know I have a meticulous schedule.," she replied. "One of the kids couldn't sleep. Fever. I'm glad you waited." She looked over and saw the same familiar faces. Bastille sat in a ragged armchair, smoking a cigarette. He seemed impatient to start. Orund gave Taffeta a smirk from his position, amongst a circle of burly blokes. They each held a beer, sipping the precious liquid slowly, making sure it lasted. The men didn't intimidate her anymore, she'd been plotting with them for many years now. But it had always bothered her that she was the only woman on the task. That had recently changed though. She turned around, to see Twill, a young schoolteacher that had recently stumbled onto their line of work.

"Twill, good to see you again," she exclaimed. "I trust you've been keeping busy." The woman gave a small chuckle.

"Those kids have been running rampant. I've been trying to keep them under control. But with the reaping so close, I think they're all on edge a bit," she sighed as she said it.

"They shouldn't have to worry about it," Taffeta said, adopting a frustrated tone. "They're just kids. What I would give to live in a world where they could just _be_ kids."

"Hey, chin up," Twill started. "We will eventually get there. Everything we're doing is helping. Just a little bit. But it helps. Anyway, I do have to ask, where has Adira been lately? I haven't seen her at school."

"Fever," she replied. "Hopefully it'll get better soon. I've not the money for the medicine right now. But she's a fighter. Huxley is with her at the moment. She will be healthy again soon." It pained her every day, that the medicine was always out of reach. Seven days of work, twelve gruelling hours, and even then, the money always ran out. There was never enough. Her husband, Anson, worked a similar schedule, but between the three kids, with food, clothing and housing, it never stretched far enough. Not that she regretted it. They were everything to her, which was why she was here in the sewer tunnels underneath Satin Street. She was here to give them a better life, without the fear of dying so young.

"Alright you hens, gather in," Benjamin beckoned the group over. "It's time to start. Bastille, what news is there from the other districts?"

The group didn't have a distinct name, it had just never been necessary to develop. The less evidence of a rebel group meeting underneath the streets, the better. However, if there were to be a name, they'd have called themselves the hens. In reference to the first meeting, eight years ago, which occurred in a derelict chicken enclosure on the far edge of the district. They had grown in number and sophistication since then, however the joke still reigned over them. Bastille, one of the original members, oversaw reconnaissance, getting information between districts. Taffeta almost drooled at the thought of his connections. However, the position came with too many risks. Risks that she simply couldn't take on with a family under her wings.

"District 9 is having a grain shortage, from the recent frosts that crept south. All hell is starting to break loose," Bastille said. The group listened with anticipation. "But 2 has sent in more peacekeepers. I'd say it will all be quelled within a couple of days. Just more people without full bellies. My contacts in 7 tell me that the celebrations for Johanna Mason are beginning to dwindle, I suppose due to the upcoming reaping. The district is starting to slip back into unrest now. Otherwise, quiet. People will start getting angry once the games start again." He looked up at Benjamin, waiting for his reply.

"Quiet is boring," Benjamin teased. "I think we should shake things up again very soon. We have some credible leads and sources to raise hell. How about the big guns, Taffeta?" All eyes shifted to the mother of three, who began to clear her throat.

"I got a message," she began. "From Johanna. When she was on the victory tour just recently. Our contact in the capitol has succeeded. He's in. This is the beginning of something big."

"Or the ending," a voice came from the tunnel. Then footsteps echoing from the other side of the cistern. Peacekeepers.

"Run," Taffeta yelled to everyone in the room. "They can't get us all." The horde scrambled, but the peacekeepers echoes were getting louder. Soon, gunfire replaced the echoes, as the soldiers marched in. Bullets darted around the cistern, buzzing as they tore brick and flesh apart. One found its way to Taffeta, shattering her ankle in the process. The pain was blinding, and her feet gave way instantly. But she couldn't stop now. She crawled across the cistern floor, leaving a smeared trail of blood behind her. She blocked out the pain, and tried to focus on getting to the edge of the room.

Taffeta realised that they were blocked in. Cornered like rats, in the sewer, no less. _How fitting._ She thought to herself. But the irony quickly turned to dread when she thought of her family. She frantically turned her head from her position on the ground, searching for Twill in the chaos. Against the wall behind her, the young teacher was sheltering. She crawled the last ten metres with gruelling agony, but she made it as the peacekeepers engulfed the room.

"Twill, tell Anson to search my draw. You need to find others. Anson, the boys from the factory, the labourers, they'll help. It can't end like this. We've only just begun. Please. Tell me you will do it," she said to Twill. The teacher nodded her head in a daze. "Quickly. Behind this wall. There's a grate. Follow it. It leads to the old hen house. I can't make it with this." She pointed to her ankle, and Twill knew it was time to go. She entered the dark tunnel, and disappeared into the black. Taffeta used the last bout of strength she had to slide a cupboard in front of the tunnel. She prayed that the woman would be safe.

The gunfire ceased, and she took in the scene before her. The walls were spotted with red; the polka dots of death. She could see Bastille's lifeless body slumped against the wall, a pool starting to form. Broken beer bottles marked Orunds body. Benjamin was decorated with bullets; she hoped it had been quick. _So much blood,_ she thought to herself. Hers was to be the next can of paint, she assumed. A peacekeeper strutted over to her. He raised his gun. As he cocked the weapon, the signature click hinted toward her demise.

"How did you find us?" She asked, out of both spite and curiosity.

"That would ruin the fun, if we told you," he grinned sadistically. "Never thought you were the rebel type, Taffeta. Tsk tsk. What a surprise." He looked down on her pitifully. She wasn't going to take the bait.

"What's to be of my family?" she asked. She needed the closure. "They shouldn't need to pay for my mistakes. The children, don't kill them." She looked up, hoping for some sliver of understanding. This man had kids too.

"Me?!" he exclaimed incredulously. "I'm no babe killer. I won't kill your precious children. But I'm sure the tributes of the 72nd Hunger Games will. Don't want to breed more of your kind." He winked, impressed with his own cruelty.

Taffeta always thought her last moments would be celebrated. Going out in a blaze of glory for the better of the world. She didn't expect to spend her final seconds begging for the lives of her children. And yet here she was, slumped on the ground, frantically praying that what was just said was lie. But she knew it wasn't.

"Once you're done in here, burn the whole building to the ground," the captain shouted from the far corner. "Make it look like an accident. There will be no musings of rebellion in district 8. It's over." The peacekeeper turned back to face Taffeta, the way a hunter looks at his prey before the kill.

"You heard the man," he said as he raised the gun. "It's over." He pulled the trigger.

 **A/N:**

 **This is the beginning of something BIG (hopefully). I've been floating some ideas around for a little while, and have slowly been coming up with this storyline. I've got much to add to it, and I'm not the world's fastest writer, but I am committed to seeing this through till the end. So, get ready to let the foxes into the hen house!**

 **Cheers**

 **-Jack**


	2. Tigers

_-Huxley-_

 _Her breath is warm as she moves closer to pull the sheets up. I look up, and see the familiar, amber coloured eyes of my mother. She smiles as she sees me stir._

" _I didn't mean to wake you," she whispers. "The snow is flurrying outside, and you've not got your blanket over you. I didn't want you catching a chill." She gets up to close a battered window shutter located on the opposite wall. It's no use, the drafts will creep through the cracks of the old building regardless._

" _I'm not so cold, mum," I say. "The wind is refreshing. It helps me sleep." She sighs, and attempts to open the shutter. But a lifetime of rust has rendered it stuck. I get up to help her, and it's now that I realise how warm the room actually is. Perplexed, I proceed to the bedroom door, and nudge it open._

 _I smell the smoke before I see the fire. The hallway is engulfed in flames, and they are furiously accelerating towards my bedroom door._

" _Mum, fire!" I scream out. I look back to see her finally prising open the shutter._

" _Huxley, get out!" She looks at me urgently, and begins running towards me. "Quickly, the window. I have to get the girls. I have to get dad."_

" _I can help," I say insistently. Adrenaline is beginning to kick in, and I realise that my sisters are still trapped. I almost manage to force my way past my mother, but she stops me in my tracks._

" _You need to get out," she pleads. "Please. I love you. I'll be out in a second." She pushes me towards the window, and I begrudgingly begin the provocative descent down three floors to the snow drifts piling up._

 _I take one last look at my mother, she looks so young in this moment of bravery. Her eyes meet mine one final time, and then her brown hair flicks backwards as she moves into the hallway. Then the ceiling collapses._

 _I watch in horror as her body is partially crushed by tonnes of steel and concrete. And I can't just be a bystander for this. I frantically scramble back into the room to help, but the flames begin to envelope her. Even then, I try to pull her body away. I try to shift some of the steel, only to be met with sheer pain as my hands turn red with burns and blisters._

 _It feels quick, as too soon, her body is eaten by the hungry fire. But I know that it would've been slow and agonising. I sit there, in despair, as the flames advance towards me. I still have the strength to move, but I choose not to. Instead, I try to find some small glimpse of those amber eyes, and wait for the fire to consume me._

I wake in cold sweats, even though its mid-way through summer. It's the same dream every time, and its slowly killing me. She died four months ago, but I continue to watch her burn every night. And every time, I wish I'd been able to save her. Save my father. Save my sisters. My family. But I continue to watch myself crumble onto all fours when she burns. It's killing me.

I look around, to check that my room isn't on fire, and when I'm convinced that it's safe, I make my way to the bathroom to properly wake myself up. I trudge down the hallway barefoot, and go to enter the bathroom, but I notice that it's occupied. Then reality hits me like a slap in the face. It's reaping day.

"My word, Huxley," my father's voice interrupts my thoughts. I look left, and see my father eyeing me up and down in a concerned matter. "You're as white as sheet, my boy. It's just one day, son. It'll be over in a mere few hours, then life goes on. You've not to be as worried as you look."

"I'm fine," I say back. "It's not the reaping. Just had a vivid dream. That's all." I smile, hiding my inner turmoil. "Can I borrow your mirror, I need to shave, and I assume Adira's in there getting ready. Fat chance I have of getting in there soon."

"Worse," he chuckles. "Virginia is in there helping her. That's not a force you want to contend with today. Go ahead." It's one of the few times he's even smiled in the past few months. I put it down to nerves. He's anxious too, though he doesn't want to admit it. Virginia is 19, and doesn't need to worry about the possibility of being reaped. My sister and I aren't so fortunate.

I snatch my razor from my bedroom drawer, and walk into my parent's…- _wait_ -…father's room. It feels so empty with just one inhabitant. Her clothes are still folded on the shelf, and on her bedside table still sits her few pieces of jewellery. There's a fox pelt on the end of the bed; my father's way of pretending she's still sleeping next to him.

I get to the mirror, and observe the work I have to do. After a couple of days resisting the razor, my facial hair has started to fashion itself into a beard, although a rough, unattractive one at that. _It'll have to go, for the reaping_ , I tell myself. Without water, I have to be careful not to cut myself, otherwise the bleeding will be hard to stop. But water is precious in district 8, and I've become accustomed to the craft. The auburn tufts fall from my chin and neck, and soon I'm left with a clean face. I look up to the mirror, and reflect at how little I look like my mother. I inherited my fathers red hair, his nose, his ears, teeth, cheekbones. The list goes on. But in a stroke of genetic bafflement, I managed to get her amber eyes.

So did Adira, although I suppose the fact that we are twins makes this a little less remarkable. I used to despise my eye colour. What awful genetic luck. They were the source of constant teasing at school, as, when combined with my hair colour, resembled the features of a tiger somewhat. There was a phase when I was rarely called Huxley. Instead, the kids referred to my sister and I as 'The Tiger Twins,' or to put it simply 'freaks.' But my mother insisted that we were beautiful, and now that she's dead, I have to believe this is true.

I proceed to the kitchen, where my father is starting to cook up breakfast for the family. I notice the bacon and eggs in the frypan and look accusingly at the man.

"Dad, you shouldn't have bought all that," I say. "Really, bread would have been enough. It's a waste of money. You could have used the money to do something for you. Goodness knows you need it."

"Nonsense," he waves his hand in dismissal. "It's family tradition. Today is a big day, and it's worth having some good food to keep you all going." My father doesn't eat bacon and eggs, which shows the level of sacrifice he makes for us. My mother always cooked before the reaping. Bacon and eggs for us, and then she and father would share a bowl of muesli. I see no muesli on the bench today.

 _-Adira-_

"I swear Adira, if you continue to moan, I will rip your throat out!" My older sister screams at me as she attempts to brush my hair. It's an empty threat, so I take the bait.

"I think you're just jealous because you didn't inherit these bright curls," I tease, playfully twirling a copper coloured curl around my finger. She got mum's hair, and the brown knotted mess partially covers Virginia's face as she grunts with frustration.

"Careful Tiger," she jokes, taking extra measures to ensure the next brush through is painfully rough. I wince, but she doesn't stop. "Any other day, I'd have shaved it all off. But you get a hall pass today. For the reaping. So don't think you're so special." Mum used to brush my hair and dress me before the reaping. I could've done it myself, but Virginia volunteered. It was her contribution of attempting to bring back normality. She was trying, but ultimately, failing.

"What's after the hair?" I ask. I worry that I could be here all day. Never mind getting ready for the reaping; I might just miss it anyway.

"We'll do makeup after breakfast," she says. My eyes widen. Was Virginia actually going to let me use her precious supplies. I had none of my own, as they were far too costly, but Virginia had acquired certain products over the years, and they only came out on very special occasions.

"Virginia," I begin. "You don't have to waste that stuff on me, I'll probably just sweat it off in the sun later."

"Save it," she cuts me off. "You are beautiful, and we're going to make you look even more so today. Plus, that's what primer is for." She gives a wink, and I know that I'm going to be her project for the next few hours.

"Thanks for doing this," I say to her. And I mean it. She can be a right brute sometimes, but she's the best I could ask for in an older sister. It seems she knows the answers for everything. Although, this gets her in trouble quite frequently. She may not have inherited the red hair, but she still has my mother's fiery personality.

"Don't fret over it, really," she insists as she finishes brushing the final curls. "Are you worried about today?"

"I suppose I shouldn't be. There's really no point in wasting time contemplating something that probably won't happen," I say. "I mean, I haven't had to take any tesserae; I'm sure there are kids out there with worse odds." Mother and father had forbid tesserae, and they had managed to make do without it. I was frustrated, but more so, grateful towards them for this.

"I'm sure Huxley would be able to calculate those," Virginia giggled, trying to lighten the mood. Hux had all the brains, courtesy of my father. The women of the family seemed to have the provocative and confronting personalities. "Don't be worried. You've not more than two years left, and time will fly. Before long, you'll be sitting here, wondering what to do with the rest of your life, like me right now."

"Not going to be a factory analysist?" My rhetoric makes her laugh. I adopt a condescending tone. "Father will be so disappointed in you." I shake my head back and forth, trying to stop my own laughter from escaping.

"I swear, I will not spend my life crunching numbers as to what fabrics need to be sewn, and who needs to order in the next batch of cotton, and who needs to transport the _'oh so beautiful'_ cardigans to our _fabulous_ Capitol," she says with verve.

"I'm with you there," I reply, sharing her disgust towards the capitol. "I wouldn't be able to sew pink dog coats for the rest of my life. Kill me now if that's to be my future." We hear Huxley yell out that breakfast is getting cold, and my sister puts down the brush.

"Makeup after you've eaten," she lectures. "Wouldn't want to get grease all over this tiger face before the reaping."

 _-Huxley-_

The girls are giggling as they come down the hallway and into the kitchen.

"About time," I tease to them as they take their seats. "I thought Virginia might have murdered you and was hiding the body. Good to see she hasn't gotten you yet." Adira laughs at the joke, but Virginia pulls a scowl.

"Who says I wouldn't go for you first?" she asks.

"Adira is quick to anger. You'd off her before me," I protest.

"But you're so boring," Adira counters. "What, with your maths and logic and reasoning. I'm far too exciting to die first."

"Or I could kill two birds with one stone," Virginia says. "Actually, what did they kill tigers with? A spear? I suppose I could fashion one of those." She smirks, and now our turn to scowl. Dad waits for the senseless banter to end, before he starts to serve up.

"What are you going to eat, dad," I ask, as he serves Adira's plate.

"I ate at sunrise," he replies. "Best time to get the food into you." It's a bad lie, but I don't push it. He has his reasons, and I'm not one to question them.

"Thanks dad," Virginia smiles. "Mum would've been proud that you can cook this almost as well as her. Looks like you were paying attention, all these years." The joke almost falls flat, but dad rescues her.

"I suppose so," he chuckles. "She would've been a chef, in another life." His voice is sad as he says it.

Breakfast is mostly silent after that, the time for conversation has soured. The meal is lovely, but it only serves to remind us that mum is missing. I still question what she had been doing in that building on a winters night. She didn't have any close friends or co-workers that lived there. It didn't make sense. My research proved this simple fact. I was yet to find any evidence of why she could've been there. Even dad was unsure, and this worried me more.

"Thanks for the meal," I say as I finish my food. "I'll wash up." I go to gather the dirty plates but my father stops me.

"Huxley, you need to get ready," he says. "The reaping will be at midday. It will be an hour to walk to the square. Go and get your clothes on, look nice for your mother." Normally, I would wear one of my father's nicer sets of clothes. But I outgrew them a year ago, and at 6'4", my large build requires my own clothes.

I pull a set of black, folded pants from drawer, and match them with a white shirt that Virginia has ironed for me. It's simple, but it will do. These are then matched with my black dress shoes; a birthday present from my parents. I don't know how many fox pelts my mother would have needed to transform to buy them. I finish up with a mustard coloured tie; I have an orange one, but I don't need the attention.

 _-Adira-_

"You look amazing," Virginia says to me. I look in the mirror, and I'm impressed with her skill. My hair flows in curls halfway down my back, and the makeup makes me look more sophisticated, and yet, more lively. I wear a short white dress complimented with white sandals. It's a very summery look, but she's done an amazing job. It's a pity it's for such a grim occasion.

Virginia seems to think this too. "Now we just have to hope that no one gets to see it," she says. "Well, no one in the Capitol, at least." Virginia quickly gets changed into a modest dress, and we wait in the kitchen for Huxley and dad.

"Usually it's the boys waiting for the girls," I mock. "Come on lads, kick it into gear already."

"Coming," I hear Huxley's voice from his room. "Where's dad?" He questions when he is ready to go.

"Dad, are you coming?" Virginia asks as we make the move to leave, knowing full well that his presence is mandatory.

"I just had to get something from my room," he yells out as he makes his way to the door. "All set now, let's walk."

The sun is out, and we join the steady flow of people making their way to the main square. Surprisingly, the makeup doesn't sweat like I thought it would; Virginia is good at her craft. Dad walks behind me, chatting with Virginia about some analytical nonsense. Her bland expression shows how fascinated she is with the topic. Huxley walks next to me, his tall figure casting a shadow behind him. People seem to get confused when we reveal that we are twins. I have become an expert at explaining what fraternal means. He towers over me by a 6 inches, and although I'm tall for my age, it pales in comparison to his figure.

"You look nice," he says to me. "Virginia can scrub you up, after all."

"Jealous," I tease. "I'll get her to do your makeup for next year. Highlight those cheekbones dad gave to you."

"I'll pass," he says. "I like to keep it simple. You know, dazzle the crowd with my 'less is more' approach."

"Well you look like a lighthouse," she jokes. "They're going to see you from a mile back."

"Sweet, maybe they'll just pick me from the crowd instead of calling a random name out," he says.

"Not funny," I reply. He can be so satirical.

The gentle flow of people grows larger as we near the square, and soon becomes a crowd, filled with anxious young faces, and those of their worried parents. We eventually make it to the square, and see the familiar outline of the Council Building, flanked on either side by two larger factories. Over the course of the next hour, the 120,000 residents of District 8 fill the square, and the children start to make their way to the front of the crowd, where we wait to be registered.

"See you afterwards," I say to dad and Virginia as Huxley and I proceed forward. 'Afterwards' seems so vague, but it sounds better than saying ' _see you tonight when we can reflect on how we all escaped death at the price of two other kids.'_ So instead, afterwards suffices.

"Give me a hug you beautiful thing," Virginia says. "I'll see you afterwards. Best of luck, not that you will need it." She waves goodbye, and after a hug from dad, they melt into the crowd. I turn to face Huxley, and he beckons me forward.

"Good luck Adira," he tells me. He hugs me and lightly tousles my hair. I playfully punch him in the shoulder. It's our custom every year.

"Good luck Hux," I say. "See you afterwards." I register for my age group, and make my way to the 17-year old's section. I filter through some of the familiar faces until I see the people I share my life with. Hera and Silk are waiting in the far corner of our section, as if trying to escape the spectacle.

"Ladies, you are both dazzling today," I exclaim as I stand next to them. Nerves begin to drive the awkward conversation. "Good to see you both, even under the circumstances."

"Adira, how do you always manage to outdo us?" Silk flashes me a compliment. "So sly, I love it."

"Sly like a fox," Hera says. It's a compliment, but it only brings back painful memories. "Shit, sorry Adira. I shouldn't have."

"It's fine, honestly," I say. "No stress. Have either of you started doing the history assignment?" I quickly change the subject.

"That's a 'night before' job," Silk laughs. "I really should start, but I work best under pressure I suppose."

"With today on the cards, I haven't even thought about it," Hera confesses. "I'm with Silk on this one."

"I suppose either way, we're going to get rattled by Sir Stick-Up-The-Bum for whatever we write," I say, referring to my awful teacher. "I wouldn't stress." Ironically, as I say this, the mayor steps onto the stage, accompanied by our Capitol escort, Paislee. They could not be more different. Our current mayor is old and withered, and looks ready to pass out from what I can guess as either boredom or alcoholism. Paislee, on the other hand, seems lively and excited. Her vibrant green hair gently waves in the light breeze, and her thin figure sports a paisley dress, in reference to her name. She would look almost normal if it wasn't for her freakish makeup. Green eyeshadow and lipstick, as well as alarmingly long eyelashes decorate, or rather, desecrate, her young face.

The two of them go through the usual motions, which involves me zoning out until it's over. I don't really need to hear the Treaty of Treason for the six hundredth time. The droning continues for about 10 minutes, in which I spend this time gazing up at Cecelia and Woof, our two victors from previous games. Cecelia's two kids clutch at her arms on either side, and she is starting to show signs of a third. She's been a busy woman.

Woof, on the other hand, sits alone, and looks oblivious as to what is happening. He won the 18th Hunger Games, and they say he did so by hiding for most of the play. I suppose the scars haven't escaped him. A loud boom erupts around the square as Paislee accidently knocks the microphone.

"Good day to you all, here in District 8. The weather has provided us with some lovely weather, wouldn't you say?" She sounds like a yapping puppy. It's almost hard not to laugh. "As you folk might say, time to cut the ribbon, let's make this happen!" She walks over to large bowl on the left side of the stage. The boys bowl. I look for a lighthouse, and see Huxley's face looking towards me. She delves into the thousands of paper slips, and pulls out a single piece of paper. I give him a subtle thumbs up. He'll be fine.

He's not.

"Huxley Mackinaw," her voice booms out. My jaw nearly hits the floor.


	3. Rats

_-Sapphire-_

 _She's hiding. It's the only move she has left. Usually, I'd call her a coward for this. But I must admit, if I were in her situation, I'd be hiding too. It's a pity I can see her._

 _It's been three gruelling days. I've been left in the cold, forced to eat raw meat, crawl through animal shit and worse. But this is easy compared to the real deal. I know the actual Hunger Games will be worse. But I'll be ready. The training at the Institute in District One prepares us for the worst. This is the last day of training I'll ever have to do. Three days of simulated fighting, to determine the best of the best._

 _Thirty-five girls and forty-seven boys thrown into one hundred acres of dense forest to duke it out until two remain. I wonder who out of the boys took the crown. The trumpet horn from about five hours ago told me that they had found a winner. I should've moved faster. But alas, I'll let my male counterpart take the glory for now. He'll be dead soon enough._

 _I pick up my wooden sword and strut into a nearby thicket of trees, where I know that Jewel will be waiting. She would have put up a good fight; after all, she did knock out eleven players with her mace skills. But since I bashed her ankle with my sword, I don't think she'll put up too much competition._

" _Jewel, come out and play," I tease, dragging the blunt blade of my sword along the dirt. I don't let on that I can already see the tip of her weapon poking out from a bush. "Just surrender. I don't need to knock you out if you are too scared." I strut a little bit closer, and for a bit of fun, I lob a pine cone at the bush. I hear a thud as it hits her in the head amongst the leaves._

" _Sapphire, you're a sadistic bitch, you know that," she yells out, as she slowly rises from the ground. "But I swear to god, I am not going down that easy." I smile. This is going to be interesting. Then I see her hand reach into her coat, and she pulls out a knife. A real knife. Now I laugh._

" _Ooh, fancy," I take a tone of admiration. "A bit naughty though, don't you think?" She doesn't take to my condescending tone nicely, choosing to wave the blade closer to my face._

" _There's no such thing as cheating in the games," she says. "Why should it be any different here?"_

" _Oh, no, don't confuse me for someone that admires the rules," I reply. I dig out my own weapon; a small corkscrew, and wave it gently in front of her. "I despise them. I'm_ so _glad we can have a real fight. Now, I do have one last question before this goes down."_

" _What the fuck do want now, rat?" Jewel asks. I ignore the slur, instead, focusing on her stance. Her weight is nearly all on her left foot. I wonder if I broke her ankle. I'm hoping not, that would make the fight too easy, and easy is boring._

" _Where do you want me to put the corkscrew? In your elbow? Between your fingers? Your neck?"_

" _Go to hell," she says, and the fight begins. We move together like dancing partners, using well-rehearsed moves on each other. Quick jabs are exchanged back and forth, but are deflected with ease. I offer a kick her way, but even with her bad ankle, she moves quickly. But she will tire before I will. Not that I will have to wait._

 _I let her have a bit of fun, giving her the chance to slide the blade across my forearm. It's a sharp knife, but the split blood only makes me more focused and driven. Now I make my move. I drop down suddenly, and swing my boot in a low arc, connecting with her bad ankle. The shattering sound is both disturbing and satisfying, and I can now confirm that her ankle is definitely broken. She screams out in agony, and falls backwards onto her arse. It's almost comical._

" _Jewel, now that you are at my mercy, would you care to surrender so I don't have to beat your brains in?" I smile sweetly as I say this, and I watch as her eyes puff out with rage. Then she does something I don't expect. She lunges at me with the knife, aiming for my neck. A kill shot. I have just enough time to jerk my head sideways, narrowly avoiding the blade. In a fit of rage, I bury the corkscrew in her right arm. I would've gone for the elbow, but the angle didn't allow for it. Now she really screams._

 _I almost want to let her endure the pain for longer. But I relent. "You're a right piece of work," I mutter, then I punch her squarely in the face. I check her backpack, and find fourteen wristbands from the other candidates that have since been knocked out. Added to the nineteen in my current possession, and my own, I have all but one. Then I break the band currently positioned on Jewel's arm, becoming the final candidate for the year._

I wake early, before the sun is set to rise. I want to get one last training session in before the reaping. I want to make sure I'm ready. I slip on a singlet and some runners, and jog down to the lake, where I know that Cashmere will be waiting for me. As my mentor, she has been training me for the last five months since I became the final candidate. As I approach the shore, in the dim morning light, I can see three shapes waiting for me. I groan.

The shapes reveal themselves to be my mentor, as well as my district partner Topaz. Gloss, Cashmere's brother and Topaz's mentor rounds out the three. They look at me and gesture to their wrists, signifying that I'm late.

"What is he doing here?" I ask Cashmere accusingly. "I thought we'd be training alone."

"Little Sapphy doesn't want me here? That's too bad," Topaz adopts a patronising tone. He pulls a face, and jumps at me. I don't flinch.

"As it's your last session, Cashmere and I both thought it would be a good idea to go over your strategies," Gloss says. "Together. To ensure you know how to work together. The easiest way to win the games is to work as a team for as long as possible. Between the two of you, I'm sure that District One is going to have a victor this year. But we want to ensure that you aren't going to go savage on each other the second the trumpet goes off." He looks at me as he says the final part.

"Ugh, give me a little bit of credit," I say. "I get it. Topaz is great. Really great. Trust me, I'm not going to abandon him, as long as he stays by me." This seems to get some approval from my mentors, and I silently applaud my subtle sarcasm. When I had become the chosen tribute for this year, I had wondered who my male counterpart would be. I had thought it would be Vokus, a monstrous boy who had been favoured by many of the trainers. However, Vokus wasn't as bright as others, and apparently went down in an elaborate ambush orchestrated by the boy standing next to me. I feel like he has outgrown boyhood though. Topaz is gorgeously handsome, with slick blonde hair, sun tanned skin, and bright blue eyes. His face looks like it has been chiselled by a god, if there is such a thing. His broad muscular frame towers over most people, at 6'6. He would be perfect, if it weren't for his attitude and demeanour. And the fact that we had dated for over two years.

I had hoped that any other boy would have beat his cocky brains in during the final test, but with my luck, that never eventuated. So instead, I stand at the lakeshore at dawn, discussing how I should keep my dirty ex alive during the games. How exciting. The training session doesn't evolve into anything exciting, turning instead into a lecture about supplies, and complex game theory that both of us have already memorized. Gloss' departing words are the only thing that stick in my head.

"Just because you fucked him once or twice…or two and a half thousand times, doesn't mean you can't just get along with each other. I mean, I'm sure if you did it on screen, the sponsors would be lining up." Gloss had walked away from the session with a bloody nose.

I get home as it nears seven in the morning, and I can see the outline of my father making breakfast. I step inside, and I'm greeted by the smell of buttermilk pancakes, fresh out of the pan. The table is adorned with spreads and sides, ready for a small feast. Two placemats have been set.

"How did the last session go?" dad asks me. He takes a seat at the table, and begins to serve himself a plate.

"It was a waste of time, they brought Topaz," I say with frustration. He laughs.

"All the years of training you went through, and one boy is all that is needed to befuddle you," he teases. "Come now, Sapphire, tell me. Is he going to be a distraction like he was before?"

"No sir," I reply. "He's that cocky, he will probably be dead by day three. Sooner, even. Don't worry about me. As you said, I've been training for so long. I'm not going to screw it up."

"I heard the trainers from the Institute talking last night," he begins. "They say you're feisty. Bloodthirsty. Sadistic, even. They think you have a real shot."

"I'm just blending in," I tell him. "Successfully, I might add. Do you know how hard it is to be like those selfish, whingey brats? They are just _awful_. It's tiring sometimes. But fret not, I have my guise ready for the weeks to come."

"Years to come," he corrects me. "Don't forget Sapphire, once you win, you need to keep that guise up until it's all over. This is only step one. Step zero, in fact. This is a long-term plan. So, don't screw it up." I nod in understanding and agreement. He's right. I will have to put on my façade for a long time, but I've already been doing it since I was eight, when I first started training. Ten years so far, I can go for at least another ten. The trainers at the Institute think they have another brat ready to control once they become a victor. Just another carbon copy of Cashmere. But I don't want to win to become rich like them, to become adored like they are. No. I want to win so I can be feared.

After breakfast, I go to my dressing room, and change into my best dress for the reaping. It's a royal blue piece, with elaborate patterns of white and silver gemstones decorating the bust. I let my long blonde air out, creating the illusion that my face is longer, allowing me to appear thinner to the cameras. Make-up comes next, and I take care to ensure I'm making my face appear pure and flawless. I want my blue eyes to pop out at the viewer, to highlight my phony innocence, but I leave my lips natural; my lips are full enough, and in the perfect condition to compliment my current get-up. After all the training at the Institute, the lessons in appearance are those of my own. I can be the best fighter out of the twenty-four tributes, but I'll need to look as stunning as I am deadly to pull in those sponsors.

Once finished, I proceed to the landing, and dad looks me up and down as I descend the stairs. He's smiling, and I can tell that he approves.

"You are radiant," he says to me. "Just perfect." I blush ever so slightly; he's my father, so his approval means everything to me. But he's right. I've done it right. I'm ready for whatever they throw at me.

It's been a long-term plan, but it's finally starting to progress into a plan with action. I only wish my mum could be here with us to see it working. But she's the reason for all of this. I've never met her. ' _For good reason,_ ' my dad always insists. And for the fact that it is logistically impossible for it to ever happen. As a young budding transport engineer, it was his job to repair trains as they travelled between the districts. I've been told the story by my father many times, but only in very brief description. On the victory tour for the Fifty-third Hunger Games, my father was on the tribute train repairing it as it made its final journey from District One to the winner's home in Two. Once it arrived, my dad snuck off, and met a young lady. He somehow manages to make a tense, adventurous story sound _so_ cliché.

From here, I can only assume I came into the picture nine months later. I've never been told how they managed to keep in contact, and it's a mystery to me, as not many trains ever need fixing between One and Two. But somehow, they did, and somehow, they managed to smuggle me from Two back to One, where my dad has raised me.

Everyone in District One has heard the sob story: A fire broke out in a squatter's settlement near the tip on the edge of the district. My father was nearby, and managed to save a newborn baby, whose parents must have perished. I'm a rare case, one of very few squatters in District One for a start. And lucky to be raised by a well-respected man in a modest home, as I'm always reminded. I've never fit in with my peers, which hasn't usually bothered me, as I have known my purpose since I was so young. To them, I'm the rat, just like those that habitat the dump, the pests that feed off the fortune of others. But to my trainers, to my dad, I'm as perfect and beautiful as a sapphire.

It's a short walk to the District Square, where stalls have been set up for selling food after the reaping. It must be quite depressing in the other districts, as all I see on the TV every year are scared faces, full of anger and fear. Here, it couldn't be more different. Young children are running around, playing tag, and the adults mingle in small groups amongst each other. The older kids size each other up, with a few daring to exchange fists in playful fights. It's a festival.

As I enter, the crowd parts to make a path for me. It's customary to treat the selected candidates with the utmost respect on reaping day, as a payment for our glorious sacrifice. I almost laugh. If I am to die, I'll be forgotten in a matter of months. They don't care for me, only for the fact that their precious kids won't have a chance of being reaped for death.

I join the registration queue, and I'm nearly immediately fast-tracked to the front. I don't know why they bother making people register. Topaz and Sapphire will be the only names they need.

"Good luck Sapphire!" someone shouts out from the crowd. I smile and wave their way.

"You're going to do great! District One will honour you forever!" another voice shouts out. As I take my place towards the front of the eligible crowd the voices grow into a chant. About five minutes later, the chant evolves to include Topaz's name, and I see him strut towards me. He winks as he stands next to me.

"Such a charmer," I say sarcastically. He laughs.

"Charmer. Pfft," he waves it off. "I'm a god. Can't you hear that?" he gestures to the chant. I just shake my head, but I'm unable to hide my smile. He's such a fool.

The chant dissolves as the Mayor takes the stage, joined by the other nine surviving victors. Gloss and Cashmere are holding hands. I shudder. He reads out the same script, and the crowd waits in anticipation for our escort to take the stage.

Henroy jumps onto the stage, and waves his hands around to hype the crowd. He's like an excited puppy, jumping around and repeatedly yelling "Hello District One!" He's quite an overwhelming character, with his scarlet red hair, and crazy choice of clothing. He's wearing a black jumpsuit, complete with large black sunglasses. At twenty-three, he's the youngest escort of all twelve. And yet, he's been doing it since he was seventeen. He got posted here three years ago. And the crowd loves him. However, amongst his vibrant and eclectic tendencies, he is also incredibly pompous and annoying, and I struggle to see how any of our other tributes haven't snapped his thin neck.

"Let's do this now!" He yells out, gesturing to the female bowl. The crowd goes silent for a moment as he reads out the first name. "Amethyst Hurlier," he reads out. A girl of about fifteen jogs to the stage, as per tradition. She wants to speed this up. Good girl.

"Hi Amethyst, how are you doing today?" Henroy asks with a wide smile. "Are you ready for the games?"

"Maybe in a couple of years," she replies with a wink.

"Are there any volunteers?" Henroy asks the crowd. Now it's my time to shine.

"I volunteer!" I roar out to the crowd, a sprint up to the stage. Amethyst does a curtsy to thank me and trots back into the crowd, becoming anonymous once more.

"My dear, you are just stunning!" Henroy says to me in shock. I giggle a little bit, turning on my façade.

"Why thank you Henroy. You look quite dashing yourself," I wink to him.

"Woah, I think we have ourselves quite the flirt, wouldn't you say?" He looks into the camera. "What's your name young lady?"

"Sapphire Starling," I say, giving the camera a smile.

"You look very ready for the games this year," he says to me, and I nod.

"Maybe not in this dress," I say, gesturing down to my blue frock. "It's designer, and I don't want to stain it with blood." I giggle once more, and Henroy almost falls over with laughter. If this is what the Capitol is like, then I won't even need to try.

"I present to you, Miss Sapphire Starling!" Henroy yells out, holding my hand up. "Now, to the boys!"

A random boy is called up, who is quickly replaced by the giant figure of Topaz. He is equally charming, not that he will need to try with his build.

"Are you excited for the games?" Henroy asks him. Topaz smirks; he already had an answer for this before it was asked.

"I'm just stoked to be doing this with such an amazing district partner! Come over here and give me a kiss on the cheek, darling," he looks and me and puffs his lips out, pointing to his cheek. What a slimy bastard. But I must play on for the cameras.

"Only if you repay it with something…more extreme, later," I wink at him, then give him the kiss he wants. The game is on.

Soon enough, I'm ushered to the drawing room of the Grand Ballroom, where I wait to say my final goodbyes. My trainers come in first, giving me last minute advice, and encouraging me. I dismiss most of it, smiling and nodding where necessary.

Then Jewel comes in, and I grin with arrogance. "Have you come to return my corkscrew?" I ask her.

"I hope you die slowly and painfully in there, you rat," she sneers at me. "But if you come home, I'll be waiting."

"I'll bring my corkscrew," is all is all I say as she turns to leave. She gives me the finger, with her left hand, I note. Finally, dad comes in. We don't need to talk much, everything has already been discussed; he knows I'm ready. It's just nice to have him here for company. It's not goodbye anyway, just farewell for a few weeks.

"Thanks for everything dad," I say to him. Giving him a hug. "I've got this."

"I know you do," he says to me. "You've done everything right so far. You're more ready than ever. We just have to hope they won't be." I laugh at the suggestion.

"Oh, believe me, they won't be."

 **A/N:**

 **I really enjoyed writing this chapter. While I was writing this, I came up with a few really good ideas that I am hoping to evolve as the story progresses. We will get back to the Huxley/Adira story soon enough though, I just felt that I needed to introduce Sapphire first.**

 **Cheers, Jack**


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